


Drown

by Kamikaze_Embers



Category: Food Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Backstory spoilers, Character Death, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Paranoia, Suicide Attempt, add more characters as they appear - Freeform, discord prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-22
Updated: 2018-09-22
Packaged: 2019-07-15 18:11:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16068554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kamikaze_Embers/pseuds/Kamikaze_Embers
Summary: “Brownie. Please, I’m going to ask you something that you aren’t going to like to hear from me. I promised you I wouldn’t let it get this bad, but he’s going to find me. Spaghetti will find me. I know he will. I can’t stand going back to him. So I need you to do something drastic. Something to set me free once and for all.”“B-52, please don’t-”“Kill me.”





	1. Shaking

It’s late in the evening- the sunset peeks through the light tan curtains, which flutter in the soft breeze. There is the faint scent of saltwater carried with the gentle wind, scattering through the open window and filling the room with the misty fragrance of the ocean. A few rays of sunlight peek out from far beyond the horizon, coloring the room in faint orange hues. The noise of the restaurant has picked up now as people pour in for dinner. Yet he stands in the middle of the brown-hued room, fingers tangled in his almost white-blonde hair. His expression is best described as shellshocked- single icy blue eye wide and frozen, unmoving. His lips are pale pink, almost white as he presses them together so he won’t make any noise. Trembling like a leaf, he stands motionless, breathing ragged and uneven.

The fighting machine Cocktail B-52. That’s who- no, what- he is, he thinks miserably. The voices taunt him: the cruel red haired man, the screaming little girl, the boy with pale blonde hair who declared his revenge on B-52… all the people he had killed and obeyed without question. He looks at his hands, and in his current mental state, he could still see the crimson color dripping down from about his wrist, falling from his fingers and leaving a bloody trail. A trail Spaghetti could easily use to find him. He will find me, B-52 wants to scream. His eyes squeeze shut as darkness surrounds him. He goes blank, completely detached.

He must have, because he doesn’t even realize that Brownie had walked in. He feels the gentle gloved hands wrapping around his shaky pale ones and opens his eyes. The sight is calming, but his heart continues to pound. He draws back his hands quickly as though he had touched something hot. B-52 stares at his hands, the stark contrast making his stomach churn. One hand is nothing but metal and wires, mechanics bothered by weather and making him substantially weaker. The other is human, blood rushing through it and keeping the limb warm and mobile. He’s a sorry mess of wires and metal parts, of flesh and blood. Brownie’s words don’t reach him- he can barely read the other’s soft lips.

“Brownie. Please, I’m going to ask you something that you aren’t going to like to hear from me. I promised you I wouldn’t let it get this bad, but he’s going to find me. Spaghetti will find me. I know he will. I can’t stand going back to him. So I need you to do something drastic. Something to set me free once and for all.”

“B-52, please don’t-”

“Kill me.”


	2. Innocent Misinterpretation

“What? I could never-”

“Brownie, please. I need you to do this. When he finds me, he will hurt everyone I love. Everyone I hold dear, he will kill them without remorse. He will take me back to his place, where the catacombs will be too tempting, far too close to where I would be. Kill me now so I won’t ever have to go back.”

“B-52. Listen to me. You are my partner. I would never hurt you in any way, especially not if it would kill you. I love you far too much to do such a thing to you. Please, please don’t say such things. I cannot do this, no matter how many times you command me to. I cannot take your life. I will not kill you.” Brownie’s voice is soft yet firm- he will not be easily swayed. His gloved hands are warm and gentle against his face, rubbing idle circles on his pale cheeks. B-52 recoils again, this time as though he’d been hit. Brownie lowers his hands, folding them in his lap.

“I’m sorry. You don’t want me to touch you right now, correct?” B-52 grasps Brownie’s hands, holding them in his own for a few moments. The other’s hands, even though he’s wearing gloves, are still impossibly warm. His hands alone are more human than I’ll ever be, B-52 notes miserably, staring at how the white gloved fingers fit so neatly in the spaces between his chunky, unnatural, awkward hands. The feeling is pleasant, but he knows he doesn’t deserve this, doesn’t deserve the kindness Brownie constantly shows the cocktail.

His hands entwined with Brownie’s, he makes a sudden decision. Brownie won’t kill him willfully, so maybe if he just puts Brownie’s hands around his neck, he can force the polite butler to kill him, to take his life like he swore he wouldn’t. Brownie senses the tension and looks up at him just as B-52 makes his move.

With the gloved hands around his throat, he holds them steady, staring into Brownie’s wide sky-blue eyes. Brownie finds himself unable to pull his hands away, not with B-52’s hands on top of his, holding them in place. The two stand there, motionless. Brownie tries to pulls his hands away, B-52 only tightens his grip.

“B-52, let go! I won’t do this! I can’t do this!”

“Brownie, please! It’s better than going back there!”

“Do you think Napoleon, Vodka and I would let him anywhere near you? As soon as Napoleon spots him, he’ll shoot him down and Vodka will have Andre attack him! He won’t even be able to get into the restaurant!” Brownie replies anxiously, his voice slowly growing louder.

“Is...Is everyone okay? There’s a lot of yelling in there and- oh!”

A tiny pair of rabbit ears pokes in from around the corner, wide yet shy blue eyes peering from around the corner. His ears perk straight up at the sight- Brownie holding B-52’s neck, B-52 prying them off? Was that it? He gasps softly and before Brownie can say anything else, Salad hops away in his basket, in such a rush that he trips out of it multiple times.  
Hop- thud. Hop, hop, thud. The sound continues to grow distant, and Brownie frantically tries to pry his fingers from B-52’s neck as the sounds of several footsteps grow closer.

The door swings open, revealing several shocked faces as they slowly take in the sight in front of them.

“Brownie, what the hell are you doing?!”


	3. Separation And Jokes

It takes some doing and mild cursing, but Bamboo Rice manages to pry B-52’s hands off of Brownie’s. Salad hops over to check for injuries. As Tiramisu stands between the two, a worried expression crossing her usually smiling face, Napoleon Cake can only stand there in shock- did he just see what he thought he saw? Brownie’s hands around B-52’s neck, B-52 trying to pry them off- what had happened to make Brownie attack his partner like that? Black Tea grabs Brownie by the back of his vest and half-drags half-leads him into another room, away from B-52 as the cocktail makes a not-very-graceful dive after her. Crab Long Bao picks him up from the floor, shaking his head.

“Man, we should take you into your room so you can rest. You don’t look too good- all pale and shaky. C’mon- and before you complain, I guess I’ll just carry you and risk getting burned.” True to his word, the blonde carries him out of the room and into B-52’s. “I don’t know what got into your partner. You must be just as confused as I am, though likely even moreso. We’ll try and coax the story from him, though we’ll definitely keep him away from you so he won’t attack you like that again. Are you okay though? Should I send in a healer or two?”

B-52 opens his mouth to speak, but his voice fails him. A weak croaking sound escapes his throat. Crab frowns, hovering a finger over the other’s lips. “Don’t speak. It seems the attack hurt your throat worse than either of us thought. Stay there- I’ll go get a healer.” He leaves the room and the loneliness fully sinks in. He stares at the ceiling, taking in all the cracks and peeling paint. It’s all so incredibly lonely now- no Brownie to hover by his side, asking him if he’s okay, if there’s anything the brunet can do for him. No one to hold his hands and squeeze gently, no warm smile to comfort him after yet another string of nightmares.

Crab Long Bao returns with a healer after a while- B-52 has no idea how long it’s been since the blond-haired boy left. But following him is Milk, a solemn girl with dull silver eyes and an expression he can easily relate to. She walks over towards him, not saying a word. Such silence is usually a comfort to him, but now it’s incredibly awkward. Suffocating. She doesn’t touch his neck, instead asking him to turn his head so she can see it better. The imprints of Brownie’s gloved fingers are still visible, a light red color against the pale skin of his neck. The skin here is even paler due to his covering it with a scarf all the time.

“Oh dear. There’s a bit of redness still there, but it may become bruised, given the current state. Some ice should help it, stop the swelling, at least- I’ll go ask Master Attendant if they have some. I’m sure there’s an ice pack in their freezer somewhere.” She leaves and Mooncake skips in.

“Hello! It seems you need to be cheered up, yeah? Well, that’s where I, the awesome Mooncake, come in!” She perches on the bedside table, golden eyes sparkling with mischief. Even Crab Long Bao looks a little nervous- Mooncake often let her pranks get out of hand and then they become impossibly disastrous. B-52 sighs and decides to entertain the pink-haired girl a while as she takes a deep breath.

And begins to tell him what feels like every joke that was ever made.  
It's going to be a long time before B-52 gets any sleep tonight, but the recovery will be even longer.  
Though she does keep away his lonely feelings for a while, making him either laugh or cringe with one joke after another.

But there's an emptiness that remains in him, slowly eating away at him until he can't even bring himself to smile at Mooncake's jokes.  
He drifts asleep, her voice turning into faint white-noise and static.


End file.
